


Steve's Sassy Letter to the Government

by BuckyGotStucky



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Letters, M/M, One Shot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Stucky - Freeform, shitty - Freeform, steve writes a sassy letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyGotStucky/pseuds/BuckyGotStucky
Summary: Steve writes a long-ass letter about his love for Bucky to try to change the minds of the government officials that are wanting to prosecute him for things he did as The Winter Soldier.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda sucks and isn't very accurate. I got the idea and most of it is just rambling. I hope you enjoy, I tried to make it a little humorous but also serious so idk. (Not beta'd so it'd be great if someone would ^_^)
> 
> Also this is based off of a picture thing I saw so it is undoubtedly gonna suck.

Of all of the complexities that I’d dare witness in my life, I’d never thought that one man could be the most complex of them all. I’d never thought that I’d meet a man like James Buchanan Barnes: a man that had gone through so much yet remembered so little of it, and was still thoroughly affected by all of it. I’d never thought that I would be personally affected by it either. As a kid from Brooklyn, I’d thought that I’d just make it through life, that I’d get a job, find me a nice gal, and settle down. Maybe me and this gal would have a couple of kids, show them that though the world can be cruel and twisted, we made it this far, so why can’t they? And then I’d die a happy man, leaving my small little mark on this big, dangerous world and never be spoken afterwards, by anyone bare my family and close friends, until they would eventually leave the world as well and my unholy legend would die out as “just another guy”. The sad thing is, I was okay with at, all from when I was a scrawny kid, barely able to make ends meet with a small smile and a bad haircut, to now, when I’m seen as two things: a hero and a villain, and seemingly nothing in between.

That’s the basis of it, anyways, and I’m sure that you all know my story, so I do not want to go into it, it’s redundant. It’s old and over told, I’m surprised that kids _still_ look up to me after all that I’ve done. Nevertheless, that is not the moral of my story; not that I am a hero, not that I am just misunderstood or that my life sucks. I am not going to tell you the moral of my story, but I will tell you one thing, the one point that I am trying to get across: I always have been, am, and always will be in love with James Buchanan Barnes. Now, there’s a few reactions I expect:

1)      Ew… Captain America is a faggot? What has come of our nation?

2)      CALLED IT!

3)      Wait… what?

Now, I can explain myself, and I will in this story. I promise, promise, promise that I will attempt to keep this brief, though we all know about Big Bad Adults and promises:

 

I had always thought that I was experiencing admiration, friendship- which I was, don’t get me wrong, I mean, I did, and I still do. I had always convinced that I looked up to James Buchanan Barnes because he was there for me -which I did, and he was- and that that burning desire in the pit of my stomach was caused by _actually having someone who was there for me_ and not because _I was confused and his eyes were so pretty and I wanted his big, strong arms to hold me and I wanted his delicate voice to whisper in my ear and tell me that e v e r y t h i n g i s a l r i g h t_ , and damn that’s a lot to admit, especially if this gets out to the general public.

When our friendship started, I was nervous. All of the cool, big, hot boys picked on me, they all pushed me around and roughed me up and I was afraid that Bucky -I’d learned that he preferred Bucky, and I thought it was cute but I never said anything on that subject- would do the same to me, that’d he’d be just like the rest and that he didn’t actually want to be my friend, he’d just wanted my lunch money or something. This had caused for many painfully emotional experiences as a young teen, and a lot of reassurance on Bucky’s end -sorry ‘bout that, Buck- before he could actually assure me that _he didn’t care that I couldn’t keep up with him because he liked carrying me_ _and it was kinda cute when I stuttered and acted tougher than I actually was_ to which I would punch his arm and let out one of my embarrassingly high-pitched giggles and say ‘you’re just mad ‘cause I’m tougher than you, Buddy, don’t mess with me’.

I remember how much my heart would flutter because Bucky would wrap his arm around me, and how much I adored the way his lopsided smile widened whenever I talked about how tough I thought I was, and how he would just listen to everything I said with complete adoration and undivided attention. I remember our sleepovers and how we would build awesome pillow forts and sit under them, talking about everything under the sun and realizing just how compatible we were, we would share ghost stories and I would pretend to be scared so he could hold me and tell me that everything was alright, and that I would be fine and he would fight off any monsters that dare come my way- mind you, this was still when we were still just friends.

When the tension started to set probably had to be when Bucky’s interest in gals increased, and I was left pretending that I loved boobs and strawberry scented hair and kind smiles that belonged to anyone else but Bucky. I don’t think that Bucky knew that I was pretending yet, he always brought gals over and he could _neverkeephishandsoffthem_ and I just wanted to slap all of them in their pretty little faces (not because they were women, I have no problem with women, I have a problem with anyone who tries to steal _my Bucky_ ). I would try my best not to wince as he would lean in to kiss whatsherblondefacethistime, and I _still_ didn’t know that what I was feeling was love, I thought it had just been friendship, because love between two men wasn’t seen as right, so I couldn’t love Bucky. I couldn’t love Bucky because he was a boy, and inevitably I was a boy and so it wasn’t even an option because I could _not_ be sent to the looney bin, no thank you.  

One time, I had walked in on him doing quite dirty things with a girl, and I remembered that I had teared up, as if he was cheating on me and we were actually together and I remember feeling _how could he do this to me_ , and that’s when I realized, friends don’t act like this. Friends don’t have to convince themselves that they don’t want to _be_ with each other in ways that friends _couldn’t be_. Friends don’t toss and turn all night, thinking about each other and wishing that they were in each other’s arms and in each other’s thoughts all the time and _always together_. I remember holding back the tears, gritting my teeth, and forcing myself to walk out that door, thinking _Bucky would never do that with me, Bucky will never hold me like that or touch me so delicately, Bucky will never ever ever love me_ , and as soon as that thought passed my mind I was sliding down the wall and the tears were falling and I was in a complete state of _woe is me_ and pure agony and it was as if my whole world, my whole foundation was crumbling, before I heard Bucky’s husky voice saying _you gotta go_ , and I could only choke on a sob because _he can’t love me, he’s not crazy_. I remember thinking _what is wrong with me what is wrong with me, what is wrong_ \- before Joan stumbled out the door in her high-heeled shoes with her trashy dress and gave me the nastiest look for ruining her evening and Bucky was soon sinking down next to me and telling her that _he said to get the hell out_. I remember that _he smelled of her perfume and sex_ and that his arms were around me, enveloping me in the luscious warmth that I’d always craved and he didn’t dare ask me what was wrong, because deep down he knew, and deep down he felt the same feeling.

As my sobs died down, I felt him sigh in relief and I just peeked up at him, with my eyes still glossed over and my hair a mess and my cheeks tear-stained, and he just gave me the warmest smile, as if I hadn’t ruined his entire evening and whispered to me, ‘I’m glad you’re alright now, buddy. Wanna get some ice cream or sketch or… build a pillow fort?’ and of course, I chose the latter of the three and I was soon curled up in my favorite blanket, drinking hot cocoa and Bucky was just watching me with the sweetest gaze. I knew I had to tell him, even though I had just deciphered my feelings. He had a right to know, but as I opened my mouth to tell him, he was leaning in, and his lips were on mine and _oh god they were so perfect and soft and delectable and my nerves were set ablaze and my heart was racing at a million miles a minute and he tasted of hot cocoa and musk and everything Bucky and I was frozen and he was so warm_. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think, my mind was racing and I didn’t think I could hold on, and just like that, his hands were on my hips and our lips were moving in sync, everything was perfect.

It was in that moment that I’d realized that none of my childhood wishes would come true, and I was okay with that. Probably more so than I should’ve been, and then we were pulling away and our foreheads rested against one another, and his blue eyes held infinite emotions and they flickered to mine and _oh god_ , my stomach churned and I whimpered and he _held me_ , and he was actually concerned and he whispered in my ear and told me that _it was all alright_ and that _we’ll make it, you and me, we’ll figure it out_ , and though there was so much to be explained, we still sat there silently and took in as much of each other as possible and I could still taste _Bucky_ on my lips. I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat that night, it grounding me and syncing with my own unsteady one. Just like that, everything seemed okay, and it was: it was alright, just as Bucky had said.

We’d gone on dates, just like every normal couple would. Of course, we had to be more secretive, though we were still adventurous: sneaking kisses in back alleys and holding hands in the corner of the restaurant, grinning at each other like nothing and no one else mattered because _we were here and together and damn everyone who doesn’t like it_. I’m surprised we hadn’t gotten caught. I’m surprised that I didn’t die a madman. Maybe people did notice, they just couldn’t believe that we were _actually gay_ and that we were just like any other couple, maybe they thought that they were just kids, I dunno. Either way, we lucked out.

I remember this one time when some girl caught Bucky and I smooching, and I was so scared that I am pretty sure I almost pissed my pants, but she just stared at us in awe and told us that ‘we were the bravest kids she’s ever seen, and she hoped that one day we wouldn’t have to hide anymore’, and I remember Bucky’s low chuckle and the small ‘us too, trust me’ that he offered as he pulled me close to him.

For our first year anniversary, Bucky won me a red little stuffed bear that held a heart at a carnival, I named him Buck, and I slept with him on every night that I couldn’t sleep with Bucky and I lost him two months later, and Bucky wasn’t mad at me, he just laughed and gave me a kiss and told me that everything was alright and that he didn’t mind. My present for him was a sketch that I’d made of the two of us, grinning and looking into each other’s eyes with all of the love that we held. He never lost it, not until- well, you should know when, you know the story.

Our _first time_ was on our two-year anniversary, after two years of kissing and hand holding and pure _happiness_ , we decided to take that step and _oh god_ , I still remember how I clung to him as he sunk into me and how I was nervous and shaking and how much it hurt, and he kissed me through it, and he told me that everything was alright, and he explored my body and kissed every square inch of it possible. He slowly moved against me until we were sweating and panting and biting back our sounds of affection, and we were pretty sure that that mattress beneath me was going to give out, though it wouldn’t matter because he was holding me with all of his strength anyways. His lips were dancing across my neck and his mouth was sucking little bruises that were sure to show for days afterwards, and my nails were digging into his back even further as his speed increased. My whole world became fuzzy and everything around me blurred until all I could see was Bucky, and suddenly I couldn’t see at all and I was a _mess_. I’d reached my climax, and he’d reached his, and once we’d settled I was panting- surprisingly not having an asthma attack- and he was giving me light little kisses and praise that were not helping at _all_ with my breathing problem, though I soon calmed and we were laying side-by-side, trapped in a euphoria that neither of us even dare escape, for if we did, we would have to deal with the real world, and the real world fucking sucked.

And I remember the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized just how _much_ the real world fucking sucked, as Bucky told me that he was being sent off to war. I remember how even though I’d wanted to be sent, I didn’t want to be sent because I wanted to stay with _my Bucky_ , and I wanted to live happily ever after with him. I remember crying, and I remember him crying, and I remember the love that we made that night and how I called him my hero and how he’d left, and then I just wanted to _be with my Bucky_ , and I’d do anything to do so. I remember a constant state of anxiety that I still hold no matter how much I attempt to hide it. I remember thinking _mybuckymybuckymybucky_ as I was offered to be sent and _oh my god what will Bucky think_ as they gave me the serum.

Seeing Bucky for the first time, my heart fluttered as it always did. Seeing Bucky for the first time was not how it is portrayed in the comic books, I distinctly remember that he almost didn’t know who I was until I _kissed him_ and I told him that _everything was going to be alright_ and that the war would be over and we kissed for a while until we remembered what I was there for and we ran. Oh, how I wish that we had gotten much further than what we had, and how he-

When he fell off the train, I was devastated, I had to choke back a sob and I screamed and I cried but I had to keep fighting. My stomach was sick and my head was spinning but I had to keep moving, I had to keep moving and I was mad. I was mad at myself and I was mad at the men around me and my commandos and I was even mad at the fucking _train_ , and I remember thinking _mybuckymybucky he’s gone and I don’t know what to do oh god_. He was my whole world, and my world had tumbled right in front of me. I had to keep fighting, though I had internally given up, and I wanted to vomit, I wanted to vomit and scream and kick and punch and I just wanted everything but what I got and it all came down at once.

Believe it or not, I kinda blacked out, I don’t remember what happened until I woke up. Contrary to the comics, I did not ask for Peggy, I instead screamed Bucky’s name. I screamed and cried and kicked and punched, to no avail, and I ran and… everything was different from how I’d remembered. Everything was bright and busy, no one had time to even notice me, everyone was dressed differently and I was crowded, I didn’t know what to do so I cried and…

You know everything from there.

I was fine until I’d seen Bucky yet again, Bucky as The Winter Soldier. I’d hardly recognized him, with his long hair and the dark look in his eyes- and that metal arm. I didn’t want to believe that it was him, oh the pain in his eyes. It sickened me, I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry and kick and punch but I had to hold myself together. I stared at him in awe, was this my Bucky? Was this an imposture? My heart raced and my stomach churned. I’d _fought my Bucky_ : my Bucky who used to protect me, my Bucky who used to hold me and kiss my hair and call me ‘darlin’, my Bucky who gave me the sweetest kisses.

“Bucky?” It was worth a shot.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Maybe it wasn’t, the feeling got worse. I was pissed, this wasn’t my Bucky. What happened to my Bucky? My Bucky was alive? I had so many questions, so many concerns. It felt like I was going to vomit.

That feeling stayed with me for the longest time. I couldn’t sleep at night, I could barely eat. I could barely think of anything _but_ Bucky. I’d only dreamed about him, I lived my life knowing that he was still alive, but he didn’t know me- he didn’t even know _him_. I cried, a lot more than I’d like to admit. I fought for him. I lived for him. I breathed for him. Everything I did was for him. My friends tried to cheer me up, of course. Natasha and Sam helped some, but there’s only so much two friends who _aren’t Bucky_ could do. I tried to date, I went on dates with both guys and gals (though the comics like to gloss over the former), but none of them were _Bucky_. Sharon was okay, but she was merely a distraction.

It seems I’ve forgotten to mention Peggy, and for that I apologize. I loved her, I truly did. She deserves all the love in the world, she deserves everything good. I loved her as a friend, she was my best friend. I was blinded by the fact that she was the only girl that ever loved me. Honestly, the comics romanticized us, but- okay, back to Bucky.

Bucky was all I could think about, I’d tried to drink the pain away, both before and after I’d found out that he was alive, though due to my metabolism, it did not work. I had to live with it, with every passing moment. I tried everything to distract myself. I tried:

1)      Fighting- _hey remember that time you fought Bucky_?

2)      Writing- _hey let’s write about Bucky_.

3)      Getting into Television- _that character is a sweetheart, just like Bucky_.

4)      Getting into Technology- _wonder what Bucky would think of this_.

Along with a large amount of other things.

I cannot live without my Bucky, not as a sane man.

And that got me thinking, why must we love? Why must our human race endure such a sugarcoated, unforgiving emotion that remains prevalent in our everyday life? Why must we endure having to think of one person _all the time_ and connecting everything to one person _all the time_? Why must we be forced to pick up the infinite amount of shattered pieces that love will leave behind, just to grab onto a new jar and drop that one, as well? Why do our hearts and our minds control everything we do, everything we say, every little movement we make? Why do we get that little feeling in the pit of our stomachs whenever we look at that _one person_ , or sometimes when we think of them?

I didn’t know why.

I really didn’t.

Until I saw Bucky again.

I didn’t know until I saw Bucky again, after we ran away, after he was unfrozen and he got a new arm and…

 

And he proposed to me.

 

“Steve, I’ve seen that,” a pause, “I’ve seen that gay people are no longer oppressed. They’re,” a small smile, “celebrated,” to which I replied with.

“Yeah, Buck. It’s great.” _Where is he going with this_? I started to feel like a kid from Brooklyn again, my heart pounding and fluttering where it sat and my stomach becoming infested with butterflies.

“We… don’t have to hide anymore.” That old lopsided grin, I couldn’t help but grin as well.

“No, we don’t.”

“And gay marriage is legal.” My eyes widened and I nodded, my heart beating even faster and my head spinning. _Ohmygodhe’sgonnahe’sgonna_.

“Y-yeah, Buck. It is.”

“Steve-“ and before he could ask, my lips were on his and _oh god his lips were still so perfect and soft and delectable and my nerves were set ablaze and my heart was racing at a million miles a minute and he tasted of musk and everything Bucky and he was frozen and I was so warm_. He kissed back, and just like that our lips were moving together and his tongue was running over my lips and I let out one of my embarrassingly high-pitched squeals and,

“Yes! Yes, Bucky, yes!”

 

 

You’re probably wondering why I am telling you this, because why the hell would Captain America display his weak side to the whole world?

I’ll tell you why:

 

Because James Buchanan Barnes maybe a complexity, and you may think he’s a monster,

 

But he’s my (soon to be) husband and he’s my complexity and my monster, and if you even attempt to touch him, you’re going to have to deal with my wrath (and the wrath of many others).

 

Sincerely,

Steven Grant Rogers (soon to be married to James Buchanan Barnes)

 

P.S. Yes, the makeup sex was great.


End file.
